


Quiet

by fireynovacat



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blood and Gore, Kanan Jarrus Needs a Hug, Psychological Horror, Read at Your Own Risk, Team as Family, Violence, no dialouge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireynovacat/pseuds/fireynovacat
Summary: It's quiet as the grave on the Ghost.





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for awhile, but finally decided to write and post it. I've been dabbling in horror for awhile, so hopefully this is good! Please read carefully, if you're easily triggered by stuff like more I suggest you click back.

It's quiet as the grave on the Ghost.

 

 

Kanan pushes himself out of his bunk and fumbles in the darkness. The hum of the ship is dull, but considering he isn't currently dying the life support must still be online. He feels hazy, tired, and worn. The Jedi fumbles through the cabin and finds his lightsaber near by, activating it for light, the buzzing soothing his nerves.

He has to use the Force to get the door open.  _When did this happen?_ He thinks. The last thing he remembers....the mission? Arriving? That doesn't explain anything. Tentatively he reaches out with the Force, looking for his family.

Nothing.

The Force slips from his grasp. Even his bond with his kid is dull. Not a bright warm spot in his mind. A reminder he isn't alone. He feels empty and lonely, stepping out into the hallway. Still nothing.

Following the blue light of his weapon he reaches the galley. Bright blue washing over the room before him. Not empty.

Ezra was only a few feet from him, laying on the ground. But that's not what stops the air in his lungs and makes everything  _crushing, dying, all gone, nothing._ Ezra is sprawled out, a sticky dark pool around him, left leg bent out at a sickening angle. Dried blood around his right shoulder and his lightsaber several feet from his outstretched hand. There's a mess of wires on his wrist where his slingshot used to be. There's too much blood and his torso is wrong, dark matter underneath him.

Kanan knows. But still checks. Ice cold skin beneath his fingers. As his hand moves the gently close Ezra's eyes he leaves a dark smudge on his cheek. He picks up Ezra's lightsaber and only makes it a few steps before hitting a heap of metal.

Metal and wires and oil. Orange. Chopper. He crouches down. Ezra made him feel dead. Chopper added to fear.

He finds Sabine near the cockpit. Pieces torn out of her armor along with the flesh beneath it. Her helmet is cracked and both pistols crushed, the pieces scattered around her. She bled less than Ezra did and Kanan doesn't know how to feel. 

Zeb is close by. His right arm a mangled mess, part of his bo-rifle embedded in the tissue, searing the flesh around it. The warrior's face twisted in a  _snarl, grief_ ,  _pain, rage all at once._  

And just beyond is Hera twisted and torn, blood on the seat she's half leaning against. She's missing a lekku and he can't look anymore.

If the Empire did this why not him? Why did he live? He remembered leaving for his solo mission. Nothing beyond that but darkness and  _tired and iron taste on his mouth he didn't want to leave. Want._

Even if the ship wasn't too damaged to even get to the nearest port he wouldn't care. He falls to his knees, switching his lightsaber to his other hand and presses his free hand to his face to hold back a wail. His fingers are covered in inky liquid but he doesn't care.

He's on a dead ship with his dead family and he's  _alone._ The lightsaber falls, deactivating. Ragged breathe leaving ice clouds, invisible in the dark, shivers and sobs wracking him.

 

 

 

 

It's silent as the grave on a drifting dead ship.


End file.
